


Perdition from the Past

by ChocolatePecan



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gladnis, M/M, Pining, Poisoning, Prompto is a BAMF, Secret Crush, Whump, caregiver becomes the cared for, everyone is worried about ignis, gladio is self-assured, ignis is crushing but hasn't realised it yet, noct is kingly under pressure, struck dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatePecan/pseuds/ChocolatePecan
Summary: The brothers all agree that Dave's dog-tag finding missions are too important to give a pass to. It's hard to remember that when they're searching Daurell Caverns for the remains of an unlucky hunter, though. It's almost dinner time, they're tired, and frankly, Ignis would rather be fantasising about the perplexingly electric touch of knees he shared with Gladio the night before.He's so distracted by thoughts of last night's campsite, that he makes a very dangerous mistake...





	Perdition from the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for stopping by! I had a lot of trouble coming up with this plot line but in the end, I'm happy with it. It was very exciting to write! 
> 
> Thank you so much to B, who made it happen! :D I really hope it's the kind of thing you wanted <3

Sunlight patterns the sandstone walls of Daurell Caverns, edging through holes caused by decades of rain. It makes the cavern look almost beautiful.

Ignis reminds himself that the sight is deceptive and looks back down at his feet. If he spends too much time looking up at the view, he risks jogging through any of several poisonous pools that suck up the toxins buried deep in the ground. They have to be cautious, despite being kitted out with three Star Pendants and a Ribbon.

Almost nothing is capable of living in the caverns. Niflheim’s use of them as a chemical weapons store during the last war poisoned the groundwater for generations. The only survivor is a sturdy patch of Allural Shallots somewhere near the caverns’ roof.

They’ve cleared the space of daemons once, but there’s no guarantee more of them haven’t found their way in. Gladio jogs close to Noct’s side, his habit of scanning for risks lit and shadowed in alternates by the weak sunlight.

“You need Iggy’s glasses? Hurry it up in here,” he says, elbowing Noct. “Shouldn’t take this long to find a set of dog tags.”

Noct returns fire in good form. “I’m not the only one here with eyes. Get to it, boys.”

“First one to find the tags has to lead us back out!” calls Prompto as he looks behind a rock for the tell-tale silver glint.

“Better not be you then or we’ll be spending the night in here.” Gladio turns over a pile of sludge with his boot. “The sooner we find these tags, the sooner we get dinner. Iggy promised me Cup Noodles.”

Ignis _had_ promised him Cup Noodles. He wasn’t a fan of their poor nutritional content, or the slight similarity to eating wet cardboard, but now and then a splurge could be allowed for. Noct had complained that they’d been eating more Cup Noodles, skewers and Garula ribs than anything else lately. Ignis didn’t think he was preparing them any more often than before. He was just using what supplies they had as economically as possible.

Gladio has made an excellent confidant of late. While Noct and Prompto unwind at the end of each day – playing ill-advisedly with weapons from the armiger, examining their scavenged finds, or talking about the console games they miss playing the most – Gladio and Ignis talk about the very real difficulties ahead, most of which still remain unknown.

Ignis considers himself a realist. Since the fall of Insomnia, the entire wedding plan has been thrown into doubt. Niflheim’s popular media churns out more propaganda by the day. Lady Lunafreya is dead. Lady Lunafreya is alive. Prince Noctis is dead. Prince Noctis is a fugitive. The Empire is all. Keep calm, Lucis, and carry on.

He doesn’t expect safe harbour in Altissia, either. The Empire has every incentive to destroy Noct, and while Altissia is mostly autonomous it is not apolitical. The only reason the Empire could want a deposed crown prince is to use him as a political scapegoat, or to eradicate the intrinsic threat he poses to their power.

 _We’ll get him to Altissia,_ Gladio had said the night before, sitting before the campfire. _No doubt._

 _My doubts begin on our arrival._ Ignis had said, finishing a mug of Ebony.

 _We’ve got this, Iggy. We’ve seen him through trouble before. We’ll do it again._ Gladio had poked the fire hard, sending sparks up into the breeze.

Ignis had felt safe enough to use his face to express his concern. On seeing it, Gladio had said, _Hey. He’s got the two most dedicated adherents going._ With a smirk, he’d looked over to see if Prompto was in earshot. _Oh, and Prompto_.

Prompto hadn’t heard the jab. He was too involved in a discussion with Noct, and as animated about it as always. Noct, for his part, was just smiling serenely at him while Prompto waved his arms to emphasise the argument he was clearly losing.

Sometimes Prompto’s inability to just sit and be calm made Ignis feel tired, but he was good for Noct’s spirits. Well. More than just Noct’s.

When the two guardians had turned back to the fire, Gladio said, _We’re damn good at what we do._

The fire had popped then; a log bursting into embers that scattered at their feet. Putting out the nearest one with a stamp, Gladio had said, _Have to admit, though… I’d have probably got us all killed by now if I was doing all the strategy work._ He’d nudged Ignis’ knee with his own. _Can’t think of a better partner, Iggy._

Their camaraderie had been incredibly pleasant. Intimate, almost. Ignis reaches to rub his knee absently.

As he shines his torch into a dark corner, Ignis is so busy ruminating over the evening before that he stops hearing the banter taking place around him.

It’s a few minutes longer before Ignis sees the dot-dot-dot dash-dash-dash dot-dot-dot of an SOS flashing on the wall in front of him. He turns, worried he’s missed something important.

The three other party members stand side by side, looking at him expectantly. Prompto mimics the sound of static, and talks into his downturned chest torch. “Eos to Igster one-oh-one, do you copy?”

“Hm? What is it?” Ignis looks between the three of them: Noct with one eyebrow raised, Prompto with his hand on his flashlight, and Gladio casually edging into his jacket.

Noct throws his thumb towards Prompto. “He was just whining about Cup Noodles for dinner again and begging for something else.”

“I was not! I was just wondering if Iggy’s ready to vary our meals a little bit again, that’s all! A guy can’t live on Cup Noodles alone.”

“Can it, so we can find the tags and bring the Cup Noodles closer.” Gladio pulls Prompto by the waistcoat and gives him a light shove towards an unsearched corner. The bigger man looks over his shoulder to Ignis and shrugs.

It’s not the shrug that hits Ignis with unexpected weight. It’s the lilting smile.

\--- 

The four search for several hours. They took on their initial tag finding mission to help Dave out, but it left an impact. They willingly take these missions now, with the knowledge that a family somewhere is waiting for a definite answer before they can grieve. The weight of the dog tags is more than the metal they’re made of.

They turn over every rock possible, search every crimp in the sandstone, and dredge every poisoned pool. Protected by their accessories, there is very little risk from the foetid water.

Prompto isn’t shy about how much he hates this mission. Ignis doesn’t speak, but mentally he nods in agreement with every protest.

“Noct. Buddy. Dude. Since this isn’t life or death, can we go camp for tonight and come back for the tags tomorrow?"

“Stop complaining.” Noct stubs his boot at a green puddle. “Wouldn’t you want somebody to tell your family if you died?” As the mud shifts, a small skull surfaces from a bubble of slime.

Prompto scoffs. “Who’d they’d tell?”

“Well. I’d want to know.” Noct prolongs his shuffle through a second puddle, so he doesn’t have to look at his best friend. Ignis sees him though, and watches as Prompto pushes his face into his arm, then pinches his nose.

Ignis doesn’t know much about Prompto’s family. He’s never actually seen them. Or heard much about them. In all the times he accompanied Noct to and from Prompto’s house, there was never a sign of life that wasn’t Prompto himself. The depth of emotion he’s showing to Noct’s not-so-subtle sentiment seems to illustrate how poorly childhood injuries sometimes heal.

To spare any blushes, Ignis changes the subject. “What curatives do we have left, Noct?”

“Two elixirs, a Phoenix Down, and this.” Noct twiddles the last of a bottle of antidote.

“Then I think it’s time we called it a day. It’s too risky to continue on in this location beyond nightfall.” Ignis stands back from the rock he’s been reaching behind.

Gladio’s voice echoes over to the three of them from a far corner. “Hey. Is this new? I don’t remember this from the last time we were here.”

The three gather around Gladio, at the edge of a wide tunnel snaking deep underground. The sides of it are as smooth as the centuries-worn sandstone on all sides of them. It reminds Ignis of a film Noct once talked him into watching, where a man dug himself out of a prison cell with little more than a teaspoon and a string of dental floss. Creative license, surely – but this hole is still dusted with ground flakes of stone. It’s too recent to have been carved by nature.

“Nest?” Gladio asks. “What kind of creature this size lives underground?”

“A particularly dangerous one if it can burrow through rock.” Ignis takes off his gloves and kneels beside the hole to inspect it. The sides feel slightly tacky, despite their smoothness.

Prompto’s voice quavers. “Uh. Can we not stick around to find out?”

Ignis nods his agreement. “We may have to abandon the tags this time.” He looks up to check on the evening through the holes in the sandstone. Daylight has faded from orange into dark blue, and stars sputter in the night sky.

He brushes his forehead as he stands, finding it beaded with sweat. Perplexing, since he’s not really exerting himself. Although the sun has permitted night’s entry, it only ever took the edge off the chill in the caverns. Even at its pinnacle, the heat never reaches the darkest corners.

His gloves seem oddly uncomfortable when he tries to put them back on, too. Perhaps he’s picked up splinters of something. He can’t see well in this light, but he’ll get the tweezers out at the next rest point. Putting the gloves in the pocket of his jacket, he takes it off and stores it.

The other three have moved ahead, following Noct towards the exit of the caverns and the fresh air of Duscae.

“Ignis? You coming?” Noct calls. Ignis hums his agreement, but doesn’t rush to catch up.

“Where are we sleeping tonight?” Prompto asks Noct, running ahead of him and then letting him catch up before racing off in front again.

“Dunno. Galdin’s nice?” Noct looks over his shoulder at Ignis. “Whaddaya say, Specs?”

“Galdin’s expensive.” Ignis blinks hard as the four light beams bouncing around the dark caverns become eight. His legs feel nonsensically heavy. “We still have two hunts to complete before we can even think about staying there.”

“Hey, we can camp for free?” Gladio says.

“Come on!” Noct grumbles, “We’ve been camping all week! My kingdom for a proper bed.”

“And we stink like last month’s unwashed gym clothes!” Prompto says. He turns to Gladio. “I’m not blaming anybody, big guy, but there’s a lot more of you to make bad smells than there is of me.”

“Pungent things come in small packages,” Ignis says. “It is bath time.” He’s not entirely sure he’s speaking the same language as everybody else anymore.

“The rest area at Taelpar’s closer, anyway.” Gladio seems to be getting further and further away. “Don’t think we should hang around outside tonight. Unless you wanna take on another Red Giant?”

“Yanno, let me think about that for a second.” Prompto issues a long, thoughtful hum before saying, “Nope, we’re good!” and turning to Ignis. “Right, Iggy?”

For all of his self-deprecation and social awkwardness, Prompto really is quite intuitive. “Ignis? You okay, dude?”

On a subconscious level, Ignis realises Prompto’s alarm is justified. He _has_ just stripped himself of his shirt, and his braces are hanging at his knees. On a conscious level, he just needs to stop the blistering heat of the fabric rubbing against his skin.

Prompto points. “Your nips are showing.”

Ignis leans against one of the walls. It’s hard to catch his breath. “I’m fine.”

Prompto’s earnestness is usually easy to brush off, but in the moment his concern feels more like a challenge than a show of empathy. Ignis’ sense of responsibility tells him he should admit he’s not up to his job – but the stubbornness that keeps his mind turning, even as his body betrays him, says he shouldn’t.

“Iggy.” Gladio is beside him, even though Ignis didn’t see him move. The world is starting to flicker like a very old cine film. Prompto would no doubt be able to tell him how many frames per second he was seeing in.

“You’re sweating up a storm,” Noct says, voice throbbing in and out as though at a distance. His actions seem stilted as he walks over, like a marionette with no strings. Somewhere under the ebb and flow of it, there’s worry in his voice.

Ignis dabs at his face with his grubby shirt. “As I said, I’m fi – ”

“Stop it,” Gladio growls. “You’re not fine. We could all turn our lights off and still see that.”

“Yeah.” No humour remains in Prompto’s voice. “You were fine five minutes ago, but now you’re not. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” and of all the things Ignis isn’t sure of, he’s at least sure of that. “It… feels similar to being poisoned. But a Star Pendant should prevent anything of the sort.”

Noct makes him take the second-to-last dose of antidote, and when that doesn’t work he offers him the dregs of the bottle. Ignis holds up his hand. He shakes his head too, but that makes him feel nauseous.

“No, Highness. If there is something in here that can intoxicate a human despite an enchanted accessory, let us hope that either the Ribbon offers you a higher level of protection or the last dose of antidote will work alongside it.”

The look Noct gives him makes his chest hurt. He usually hides his fear well behind the armour he built around his feelings in his early teens. This is the same look he gave Ignis whenever his sense of safety was encroached upon as a boy.

Ignis can’t do what he used to do – sit him down and logically talk him through the worry, sometimes using books or pictures to illustrate. Right now the priority has to be to get Noct out of a location that could actually kill him, and then try to find a way to heal himself.

Noct pulls out an elixir and twists the cap. It’s as though he hadn’t heard Ignis’ last comment at all, and he feels his annoyance rising.

Ignis’ hand moves almost without command as it snaps down over the lid of the elixir. “ _No_ , Highness. There’s too much chance of facing daemons before we get to a rest stop.”

“Let’s just get him to Taelpar.” Gladio says to Noct. “He can rest up there and we can get healing supplies.”

“Maybe we should contact Dave? He might have come across this before.” Prompto’s massaging his hands. Anxiety is starting to get the better of him. He does have a good point, though – if this toxin has affected any previous hunters, Dave will know what to do.

“Can you make it?” Noct asks Ignis, putting a hand on his shoulder. It should feel hot, like his clothes do, but instead it’s as cooling as a refrigerated can of Ebony. It’s so pleasant that it distracts Ignis enough for him to forget what Noct was saying. He feels the blank look on his face, and can’t remember enough of the conversation to care.

“I’ll send us back to the car,” Noct says, tugging on Ignis’ wrist.

 “You can’t from inside the caverns.” Ignis feels the burning extend to his legs and ankles, though now his wrist is relieved. His shoes and belt cause such pressure against his skin that he wants to rip them off. “I’ll manage until we reach the exit. You can send us there then, but somebody else will have to drive.”

From somewhere in the cavern behind them is a rumble like a subway train. It seems like years since Ignis last heard one, but he remembers the tremble of the ground under his feet all too well.

Prompto summons his pistol. “Uhhh. Please tell me that’s the oh-eight-oh-five service to Getting the Hell out of Here?”

A purple glow emanates up the meandering route between caverns.

“You got a fight left in you, Iggy?” Gladio summons his broadsword. “Or do you need to sit this one out?”

Ignis’ answer dies before he can say it as the cause of the rumbling bursts into the cavern, breaking through the sandstone as easily as window glass. The daemon looks like something between a Hekatontoad and the dragon-esque Jormungand, but it’s too wide and too long to be either. Its growl is much higher pitched than expected for a creature that big.

Ignis summons his lance, feeling sweat drip onto his collar. “I think I’d better join in, don’t you?”

The daemon arches up, spreading sharp, pointed protrusions that might once have been wings and are now naked bone. They tremble in a sinister peacock dance, before the daemon lashes its mace-like tail across the four.

The barbed tail misses Noct and Gladio, who dodge and roll, but it catches Prompto hard enough to knock him clear across the cavern and into darkness with a cry.

Noct bellows, “Prompto!?”, but he can’t afford to stop fighting. Snarling, he runs behind the daemon, taking his rage out on its tail.

He’s answered by the light of a small blast amidst the darkness. Ignis sees white-hot bazooka ammo sailing through the air before he hears the familiar boom of the weapon being fired. The charge explodes as it strikes the daemon between the eyes, making it recoil and shake its head.

“Do not – I repeat – _do not_ get on the wrong side of that tail!” Prompto emerges from the firing smoke, still holding the bazooka on his shoulder. He’s limping, and blood streams from a gash on his arm. Ignis has seen him fight with worse injuries, and with Lion Heart the damage he can do increases when his hit points are low – but for him to have taken that much damage with one strike, as experienced and strong as he is now…

“Noct! We have to withdraw!” Ignis calls. “We can’t take on a daemon of this strength without more curatives!”

The words leave Ignis breathless. Ears throbbing, he tries to lift his hand to his chest. It’s too heavy – more like lifting one of Gladio’s swords than his own arm. He feels the panic begin even as he struggles to maintain his logic: _I have to be able to fight. If I can’t lift my arms, I can’t help Noct._

Across the cavern, Gladio roars as he launches an Impulse attack on the daemon. Ignis isn’t sure why, but it’s Gladio’s attention he seeks most. Perhaps it’s because he’s the only other member of the party Ignis feels can take the lead in a crisis. Or because Gladio’s the only one he’s been able to share the burdens of coaching His Highness with. Either way, it’s the shield’s strength of mind he needs now.

“We’ve got company!” Prompto hollers from the rear. “A whole graduation party of Goblins!”

 _Of course._ Ignis despairs, pushing the butt of his lance against the ground and using it to hold himself up. _Daemons of this size rarely hunt alone._

“Iggy!” Gladio calls from across the cavern, lit angry purple by the miasma of the daemon. “You all right?”

Ignis’ glasses no longer provide clarity. His mouth tingles unpleasantly, and his lips must be numb because he can’t answer. He grapples with the lance in defiance as his hands slide, prickling as they go like they’ve fallen asleep waiting for him to act.

The shoes he’d found so uncomfortable earlier don’t exist anymore. Nor do his knees. It’s all Ignis can do to prevent smashing his head against the rocky ground as he crumples.

“Iggy!” It’s Prompto shouting this time, and the noise of gunfire gets closer before he crouches at Ignis' side, looking down in dismay.

He puts two fingers against Ignis’ throat to check for a pulse, but Ignis is sure he can’t look _that_ dead.

“Noct! Phoenix Down!” Prompto calls, picking off a pair of Goblins scrambling nearby with two flawless shots. “Iggy heeds help!”

 _No! That’s unlikely to work if the antidote didn’t. With so few curatives in stock it’s practically a life lost!_ But Ignis can’t move his mouth to say what he’s thinking. Through the crushing fear that his windpipe and chest are caving in, there’s little he can do but try to meter his panic. Gazing up half-blindly at the daemon worm, he watches it bob and weave as it does its best to prevent their survival.

It’s hard to focus, but as the tail of the daemon swings past him Ignis notices the sheen on its scales. The substance looks too tacky to be water, even in the toxic caverns. If the daemon is amphibious, it can’t sweat. If it’s more like a worm in structure –

Ignis remembers crouching down beside the daemon’s burrow, stroking the smooth sides of the hole. He’d taken his gloves off to do it – touched the surface with naked skin. Some amphibians and fish are highly toxic, and this daemon has clearly been mutated by something, probably whatever diabolical weapons were left here to rot into the ground.

The sheen on the daemon isn’t water, and it isn’t sweat. It’s mucus, probably neurotoxic to mammals.

Every member of the group is at risk of being struck with the same condition as Ignis. The daemon isn’t just trying to kill them. It’s planning dinner.

_Shit!_

As though it hears his exclamation, the daemon worm arches its spine and strikes directly at Ignis. Prompto doesn’t flinch, and can put his back nowhere but against the wall, but he doesn’t abandon Ignis to his fate. Instead he lifts his machine gun and fires into the daemon’s face to slow it down, finger locked on the trigger.

It’s an act that might get him killed. The daemon’s mouth is railed with tiny conical teeth, and when they’re at six feet away Ignis prepares himself to be bitten in half. He hopes to the gods that Prompto has the good sense to get out of the way.

Metal clanks heavily into the ground in front of the two of them at the last moment. The daemon’s head bounces off Gladio’s shield, and it seems stunned, head lolling from side to side as it withdraws to regroup.

“Prompto! What happened to Iggy?” Gladio shouts as Noct crosses to them, summoning his own shield and slamming it down next to Gladio’s.

“I think it’s the poison! He’s breathing but his pulse is weak and he can’t seem to move!” Prompto’s fingers go again to Ignis’ throat. His noise of frustration means he doesn’t like what he finds.

“We need to get him out of here.” Noct attacks a dancing goblin getting too close. His determination is in his terse slashes, in the increased savagery of his movements. Ignis feels closer to him than ever – this little brother now taking a turn at protecting him, rather than the other way around.

“How are we doing this?” Prompto asks Gladio, reaching for Ignis’ hand.

 _No! Don’t touch it._ Ignis can’t feel his hands anymore, but he tries to flick his arm further away from Prompto. He knows he put his gloves in his jacket pocket. If Prompto touches the naked hand, the poison could transfer to him. Prompto looks perplexed, and Ignis wonders if he’s seeing the alarm he can’t verbalise in his expression.

Everything beneath his eyes is tingling sharply now. He knows he won’t be able to speak, but if he can just move enough of his brows to show his displeasure he might be able to keep Prompto from trying again. In fractions of inches, Ignis manages to drag the numb hand closer to his body, using his shoulder to mechanically fold the hand towards the small of his back.

“You trying to tell me something, Igster?” Prompto asks.

_Yes. Take Noct and get him out of here. And don’t touch my hand._

“Right,” says Gladio. “We’re gonna do like everybody else who wants to live when they’re in a fight they can’t win. We’re gonna run!” Gladio protects the four of them from the teeth of the daemon as it recovers itself, darting in once, twice, three times in quick succession. Noct slashes at it in earnest, but that just makes it angrier.

“Noct! Keep that shield up!” Gladio breaks formation to slam his own shield into the mouth of the daemon. It shrieks. Clearly it hadn’t expected dinner to be so feisty.

“Prompto, you cover Noct and get to the exit. I’ll shoulder Iggy. We’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop for anything!” Gladio carves a deep wound in the neck of the daemon. For a few seconds it seems to reconsider its next meal, snatching it’s head away with a wail.

“On it!” Prompto says. His worry is obvious, and quite endearing, as he leans in to say, “Catch you outside, Iggy.”

For as far as he can see them without turning his head, Ignis watches the two youngest members of the party run for the exit. Noct bashes Goblins out of the way with his shield, and Prompto fires behind them to keep the monstrous daemon at bay. Their twin torch beams are like cheap children’s entertainment in the dark, punctuated by flashes of gunpowder and the echo of shots.

The mutant daemon flattens itself, shaking its wings in that savage little dance. It inches forwards, as though to make chase.

 _Don’t do it._ Ignis stares it in the eye for as long as he can between blinks. _Let them run. Take me if you must, but let them run._

His eye line is interrupted when Gladio crouches beside him. All Ignis can see is rugged willpower in his smile and the shield held at his back, a strong arm keeping it in place.

 _You should save yourself._ Ignis knows Gladio can carry him, but the mutant daemon is fast. Carrying Ignis will just slow him down. Gladio is built to withstand the end of the world, but he’s not speedy. _Noct will need you._

“Nah, Iggy.” Gladio winks with a smirk. “Don’t look at me that way. We’re pack animals. We hunt in a pack, die in a pack. Gotta look out for each other, right?”

Through the increasing numbness and pain, Ignis has just enough ego left to feel shame at his tears. Gladio doesn’t seem to notice – he just hefts Ignis over his shoulder and moves his shield to the other hand.

“You ready?” Gladio asks rhetorically. “Let’s go.”

Gladio waits for the mutant to rattle its wings again, knowing it distracts itself with its own show of power. With the shield still protecting his back, Gladio pounds his boots against the centuries-old rock. His pace is not the fastest, but Ignis can’t doubt his confidence. It’s embossed on every step, every movement, the self-assurance of a man who knows he can defend himself and uses his immense strength to defend others.

Ignis tries to tune out from his body. The journey is critical if they’re to escape, but the constant jostling and bumping is making it harder to breathe, and definitely harder to endure the pain now bordering on agony.

The thoughts that come to mind are not the ones he expects. They’re inspired by his weakening senses: the scent of hard-worn leather; the sound of Gladio’s increasingly laboured breaths; the world blurring into splotches of orange and blue as his glasses fall to the ground behind them. He isn’t dextrous enough to hold them onto his face, and they can’t go back for them.

Inexplicably, this simple, unimportant thing taunts Ignis to anger. As the mutant makes a few more tries to snap Gladio in two, Ignis stares into its purple-green eyes as well as he can with fading sight. The effort he puts into it is equal to the effort Gladio puts into running.

_If you catch us now, you filthy cowson, I swear to the gods I will make you the sickest you’ve ever been._

Shapes and colours start to meld together. He’s losing the ability to define one thing from another. The pain is overwhelming, and he can smell burning. His hippocampus will be screaming at him by now: _breathe, breathe, breathe, your brain needs more oxygen, do whatever you have to do to get more air_.

All Ignis can think regarding this new terror is, _Please don’t take my mind_.

The orange starts to lighten, as does the blue. For some seconds, Ignis wonders if this is it – he’s dying, as good as dead, Gladio can drop him now and save himself.

When Gladio bellows, “We’re almost there!” it seems like a pleasant dream. But Ignis senses the air on his face, sees the new moon’s light whitening the plains, and realises that yes, they are outside but not yet safe.

Ignis can’t move his head or neck to look for himself, but his instincts rail at him.

_Where are Noct and Prompto? Please gods tell me they made it out. Please gods. Please gods –_

Prompto rushes into Ignis’ vision, and puts one hand on his shoulder. He seems to find it hard to locate his voice. “Iggy? You still with us?”

It’s no more than a second before Noct is checking Ignis’ face as Prompto did, and his horror is captured in the twist of his brow. It’s times like this that Ignis is most proud of him – the moments where long-trained instincts and spectacular DNA come together to make a king.

Noct knows there’s no time for niceties. He grasps Ignis’ shoulders and hefts his upper body against him. He puts the hand of the same arm on Gladio’s shoulder and the hand of the other on Prompto’s nape, and warps them all to the Regalia.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're enjoying this fic, come and play Bad Things Happen Bingo with me over on [tumblr!](https://chocolatepecan.tumblr.com/post/177215066359/update-on-squares-for-bad-things-happen-bingo-ive)


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